


Twenty Bucks

by rottenwood



Category: South Park
Genre: Cartman watches Kyle sleep, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottenwood/pseuds/rottenwood
Summary: What Cartman would do to get back twenty bucks that are, in fact, rightfully his.Featuring a dead cat, Kyle, and a pair of black boots.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Twenty Bucks

Cartman sat in his room, huddled under a blanket, staring straight ahead. Cartman hadn't even done anything wrong, just stolen twenty bucks. Kyle was a Jew anyways, not like he didn't have any money. He had no right to get so upset. What a freak. Who cares that Kyle had been saving the money to buy his brother the action figure he'd wanted for months? Not cartman, that's who. Kyle had even gone to Cartman's mother to get the money back, and guess what! That bitch had given it to him! She'd ripped the money right from Cartman's benignant hands and given it to that dirty, vile money-grubber. Kyle had broken his mother and stolen from him all for twenty bucks. 

But, Cartman mused, it wasn't like Kyle could help it. He was a dirty kike, and that's just how kikes are. He shrugged, sat back a little. He'd get back at him somehow, and get his money, too. 

The room was dark, light trickling in from the window, disfigured by the crooked trees outside. The moon was dully shinning, just enough light to make out his backyard and the last of the twitching leaves, clinging desperately to the tree as winter loomed over them. His door sat shut and locked, as usual. Can't have his bitch of a mother sneaking in and touching his shit again. The wind howled outside as the tree swayed steadily. Something clawed against the stucco of his house, the sound somewhat startling against the dull wails of the wind. He pulled the blanket tighter around him, waddling to the window. What the fuck was making all that noise when he was trying to sleep?! 

He looked out, fat face leaving a greasy smudge on the glass of the window. A white figure, small and four-legged, darted around. He squinted. A cat. 

It ran into the wall, fell over.  
A rabid cat. 

How interesting. Cartman stared at it as it ran around his back yard, eventually falling over into the snow, breathing heavily. 

What if-?  
No, no, that was just gross. There was no way Cartman was going to touch that thing. It was sticky and foaming, twitching on the last few legs of its life. 

But Kyle did deserve a severe shock. He eyed the cat, feeling a heavy grin drape itself across his face. Oh, he was so smart. So, so smart. Dare he say, a genius. 

It took a few minutes to get dressed and down the stairs, but soon enough he was standing over the cat. He grimaced and leaned down to it. The white rag of fur was dead, that’s for sure. He almost felt bad for the thing. "You died for a good cause," Cartman said aloud, before pulling the matted fur up and into a trash bag. He tugged off his gloves and set them aside. This was perfect. 

The walk to Kyle's wasn't long. He'd memorized it by now, having walked it a million times. It wasn't unusual for Cartman to sneak on his long-time enemy, check up on the redhead to make sure he wasn't doing anything suspicious, like writing secret Jew messages or conspiring to bomb the whole town. 

There was a tree in Kyle's back yard that was huge, with thick, sturdy branches. Cartman had heard Kyle begging his dad to cut it down once, saying he felt like someone was watching him from it, but thankfully the eldest Broflovski refused. 

"It's a lovely tree, Kyle," Gerald had said, and frowned at him. Kyle was about to cry, searching his father's face for any way in. 

Cartman had popped a boner right when the first tear fell. 

He'd seen Kyle do a lot of things from that tree. Mostly study, sometimes spend time playing games on his computer. Kyle seemed to like to read, like the gaywad he was. He read a lot, actually, which made Cartman's tree-time momentously boring. He usually brought a notepad, documented Kyle's habits and routine. On occasion, he brought a camera, but he was afraid of dropping the thing from the height, so it was mostly left at home. Sometimes Kyle remembered to close the blinds, which infuriated Cartman to no end. But this kind of job required patience, and when it came to keeping tabs on the Jew, Cartman had a surplus of it. He couldn't let the town down by ignoring the obvious threat in their midst. Just because everyone else chose ignorance didn't mean Cartman would become another lamb for the slaughter. No, that Jew would never get the one up on Cartman. 

And tonight was no exception. 

Cartman tied the bag around his shoulders and began to pull himself up the tree. The climb took a moment, his fat body heaving and huffing with every jerk and lug upwards. It was nearing three in the morning, the perfect time to slip into Kyle's room. He was always asleep at three, trying to get at least three hours of sleep before he had to wake. Cartman shuffled along a lengthy branch. He heard it groan under his weight, but relax when he placed his feet on the roof in front of Kyle's window. He released himself from the branch and flushed himself against the wall. The bag was closed, still over his shoulders, as he undid the lock and let himself in. 

It was darker in Kyle's room than his own and smelled like cleaning spray. Steril. 

It looked like it, too. You couldn’t guess a teenage boy lived there. A stock family, maybe, but not a kid with interests and emotions. The walls were devoid of posters or art. Or anything, for that matter. Not even a photo of his friends. The desk had a simple model of the solar system and a picture of Kyle's mother. His homework and books were lined neatly against the edge of the table, the pencils ordered from largest to smallest next to them. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. It was disgusting. 

But not entirely surprising. Kyle was a ginger Jersey Jew. He wasn't exactly a normal teenage boy. 

Cartman leaned against the window and watched Kyle sleep. His chest was rising and falling gently, his eyes softly shut, mouth open just a bit. Cartman put the bag on the ground, content for a moment just watching the rat sleep. His breath was soothing, steadily in and out, framed by the hum of the heater. His hair was loose from its neon green hat, falling in perfect ringlets around his face. Cartman stared at him. His stomach boiled. He felt...  
Strangely aroused. 

It would just be so easy to walk over and snap Kyle's neck.  
So easy to pin him down and force him to suck his balls, gag him with them. Cartman grinned again. He could feel himself getting hard from just the idea. Choking the skinny Jew 'til he turned blue, 'til he writhed and screamed and thrashed and, eventually, submitted. Cartman backed into Kyle's closet, stroking his member as quietly as he could. He bent down to Kyle's shoe rack, biting back a quiet groan. Six pairs of shoes. Oh, which to choose? He pulled down Kyle's signature black boots and, after a moment of closing his eyes and focusing on the image of Kyle's blue, breathless face, ejaculated into them. He sat for a moment afterward, staring at the mess he'd made, before putting the shoes back, zipping up, and coolly return to the window. The room remained undisturbed. 

Cartman picked the cat gently out of the trash bag. This was perfect. So, so perfect. He waddled to Kyle's dresser, opened his sock drawer, and dug down. Eventually, he found the twenty bucks, and he took it back. Despite Kyle's Jewish heritage, he was still shit at hiding his money. Cartman took the cat from the bag and stuffed it under Kyle's socks. He'd find it pretty soon, hopefully covered in double the maggots. Cartman toed quietly up to Kyle's bedside. "I have my money, Kahl," He said, leaning over the sleeping boy. Cartman caressed his face softly, a finger lingering over Kyle's now shut mouth. "You thought you could take it from me, huh? Well, guess what?" He paused like Kyle would suddenly awake and respond. "You can't ever take shit from me and get away with it." Kyle snored gently, oblivious. "I'll be back, mein Jude. I'll be back. Just you hang tight." 

He left it there, walking back to the window and slithering down the tree. The trash bag was thrown away behind Kyle's house as Cartman waddled his way back home.

He gripped his twenty bucks, chuckling at his genius. The week was already looking up.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic, at last. Bit of a drabble, in my opinion, lacking some basic grammar/writing skills, but eh. I'm here for practice. I hope to just throw up writing here, write whenever I can, that kinda jazz. We'll see, with the upcoming school semester and all.  
> I'd appreciate it a ton if people left behind some critiques (even simple ones), or maybe a least favorite/favorite bit. I just want to improve. As the 2008 fanfickers woulda said, R&R!


End file.
